The Aborted Child Poem by ANTHONY ANIGBATA

THE ABORTED CHILD

What crime committed he, child
Who wanted to behold the world
And add value to where we dwell?
Instead it became a nightfull loss
For the emerging plant was sickled
Even before the dawn could smile.

What a terrible fate not to grow?
Useless uterine! Prematurely you
Poured him out in a pit
With no mourners to rain tears.
As he depart this vice-full earth
He would have being the president
To make this crèche habitable
Or a doctor, to save many lives

Yet you sickled it, child without a crime.
What a painful way to pass on?
With forceps piercing its head
You took the head, broke the arms
Punctured the stomach, hurt the legs
Cut the growing gullet
Before it could open it eyes
You enforced its removed.

You murderer, you wasted it;
Embryo or fetus, it is a human
You choose to crunch, while still tender
And young. You irresponsible one!
The sweet- night -right- of -birth you love
But its seed, you cannot to carry and deliver,
Many a married woman waits the call of a child

So many but you
Mock fertility by planning
Its burial before it was born.